Marina spent a long time looking through ads on the internet until she came across the perfect option. A small summer house about thirty kilometers from the city, with an eight-hundred-square-meter plot and an old but sturdy little cabin. The price was quite reasonable for their family budget.
“Sergey, look!” she called to her husband, pointing at the laptop screen. “Here’s our dacha!”
Sergey came over, adjusted his glasses, and carefully examined the photos. The house really looked solid, although it needed some cosmetic repairs. The plot was overgrown with grass, but that didn’t scare them.
“Anton is getting married soon,” Sergey said thoughtfully. “The apartment will stay with him and Lena, and we’ll finally be able to live as we wanted.”
They had been saving for this dream for five years. Their son was already working as a programmer, dating a nice girl, and the parents understood it was time to give the young couple some space. The three-room apartment in the city center was too cramped for two families, and the summer house seemed like an island of peace.
The deal went through quickly. The previous owners were eager to sell the dacha and move to their children in another city. Within a week, Marina and Sergey were holding the keys to their own country house.
The first few months flew by unnoticed. On weekends, they came out, did repairs, painted the fence, and tidied up the plot. Marina enthusiastically planned the future garden, studied plant catalogs, and bought seeds. Sergey built shelves in the house, repaired the roof, and arranged the outbuildings.
By early summer, the dacha had transformed. The house walls were painted a pleasant blue, they planted a flower bed by the porch, and apple and cherry trees were planted. Marina took pride in every flower, every garden bed. Here, among the greenery and silence, she truly felt at home.
But the idyll didn’t last long.
“Oh, how beautiful!” exclaimed Valentina Mikhailovna, Sergey’s mother, when she saw the renovated dacha for the first time. “You’ve made such a lovely place here!”
The mother-in-law came to visit for the weekend, and Marina was glad to show her the results of their hard work. Valentina Mikhailovna walked around the plot, admired the flowers, and praised the plantings.
“You know,” she said at dinner, “you could even start a business here. The land is good, the location is convenient. If I were you, I’d set up a greenhouse and grow things to sell.”
Marina politely nodded, not paying much attention to her mother-in-law’s words. But two weeks later, Valentina Mikhailovna came again, now carrying a small bag.
“I’m staying for a couple of days,” she explained. “It’s unbearably hot in the city, but you have such coolness here!”
A few days turned into a week. Valentina Mikhailovna was busy with household chores from morning till night, giving advice on how best to water the plants and where to make new garden beds. Marina tried to stay calm but gradually started to get irritated.
“Sergey,” she said to her husband when they were alone, “is your mother planning to live here permanently?”
“Oh, come on, Marina,” Sergey waved it off. “She’s just resting. It’s hard for her in the city, the apartment is small, the neighbors noisy.”
But the rest dragged on. Valentina Mikhailovna brought yet another suitcase, then another. She settled into the small room, hung up her photos, and arranged flowers she had brought from the city.
“Marina, dear,” she said one morning, “I was thinking—we definitely need a greenhouse. A good, big, reinforced polycarbonate one. I saw in an ad it costs only one hundred fifty thousand.”
“Only!” Marina gasped. “Valentina Mikhailovna, that’s a huge amount!”
“But what a profit there will be!” the mother-in-law became enthusiastic. “We’ll grow seedlings, sell them at the market—cucumbers, tomatoes, flowers. I already did the math, we can earn about three hundred thousand in a season!”
Marina felt indignation boiling inside her. This was their dacha, their dream, their hard work. And now her mother-in-law was acting like she owned the place, making grand plans and spending other people’s money.
The worst part was that Valentina Mikhailovna started setting her own rules. She demanded everyone get up at six in the morning—“the most productive time for gardening work.” She made Marina transplant flowers that, in her opinion, were in the wrong places. She criticized watering, feeding, and weeding methods.
“Marina, you’re loosening the soil wrong,” she instructed. “Look, this is how it should be done!”
“These need to be transplanted; this isn’t their place!”
“Why did you plant petunias here? It would be better to plant dahlias—they’re more beautiful and bloom longer!”
Every day turned into one long lesson. Marina felt like a servant in her own house. Even cooking was sometimes not allowed by her mother-in-law, who claimed she knew better how to make soup and fry potatoes.
“Anton,” Marina complained to her son when he came to visit with his fiancée, “your grandmother has gotten completely bold. She’s in charge here like a general!”
“Mom, come on,” Anton tried to calm her down. “Grandma just wants to help. She means well.”
“What help?!” Marina exploded. “She’s planning to spend our money on a greenhouse to sell at the market! We wanted to relax here, not run a business!”
Lena, Anton’s fiancée, nodded sympathetically. She had already talked to Valentina Mikhailovna and understood the old lady was not easy to handle.
“Aunt Marina,” she said quietly, “have you talked to Uncle Sergey about this?”
“We have!” Marina smiled bitterly. “He says Mom is old, she needs somewhere to live. But we didn’t buy the dacha for that!”
The situation grew tenser. Valentina Mikhailovna had already ordered the greenhouse without asking permission. She announced that in autumn the whole vegetable garden would need to be dug up to plant onion sets “for the future business.” Marina dreaded imagining how her cozy garden would turn into an industrial plantation.
The last straw was the episode with Marina’s favorite flower bed. She had cherished the flower bed by the porch since spring, planting rare varieties of roses carefully selected from catalogs. The flowers had only just begun to take root, and suddenly one morning she found half the flower bed dug up.
“Valentina Mikhailovna!” she couldn’t hold back. “What are you doing?”
“Making room for seedlings,” the mother-in-law replied calmly. “These roses won’t take root anyway, but you could plant peppers here. Very profitable crop!”
Marina felt tears welling up in her eyes. Her roses, her dream, her work—all meant nothing to her mother-in-law. She turned and went into the house where Sergey was sitting at the table reading a newspaper.
“That’s it!” she said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. “I can’t take it anymore! If your mother needs to rest, buy her a dacha! She has no place in our house!”
Sergey looked up from the newspaper, surprised at his wife.
“Marina, what’s wrong? Calm down.”
“I won’t calm down!” she snapped. “Your mother destroyed my roses! She plans to turn our dacha into a trading post! I’m tired of being a guest in my own home!”
“But Mom didn’t mean it,” Sergey tried to justify. “She just wants to help, to be useful.”
“Useful?!” Marina was beside herself. “What use? We wanted to relax here, enjoy nature, and she turned it into a collective farm! Every day she gives orders on how to live, what to do, where to plant!”
Sergey sighed heavily. He understood his wife was right but didn’t know how to solve the problem. Valentina Mikhailovna was his mother, and he couldn’t just kick her out.
“I’ll talk to her,” he promised.
“Talking won’t help,” Marina cut him off. “She already ordered the greenhouse with our money! Listen, Sergey, I’m giving an ultimatum: either your mother leaves voluntarily, or I sell our car and buy her a separate dacha so she leaves us alone. But this can’t go on!”
Sergey was frightened by his wife’s determination. Marina rarely resorted to extreme measures, but when she did, she didn’t back down. He knew if she promised to sell the car, she would do it.
“Alright,” he said after a long pause. “I’ll have a serious talk with Mom.”
The conversation was difficult. Valentina Mikhailovna at first didn’t believe her son could ask her to leave. Then she got offended, started crying, saying she was being thrown out in her old age. Sergey suffered but stood firm.
“Mom, understand,” he explained, “this isn’t your dacha. Marina and I saved for it for years, dreamed of a peaceful rest. But you want to start a business here without asking us.”
“I meant well!” Valentina Mikhailovna sobbed. “I thought we’d earn money, it would be easier for you!”
“We don’t need that money,” Sergey said firmly. “We need peace.”
In the end, the mother-in-law agreed to leave but did not hide her resentment. She packed her things, canceled the greenhouse order (losing part of the deposit), and went to the city to her sister’s place.
Marina sighed with relief when the gate clicked shut behind her mother-in-law. She went out into the garden, looked at the dug-up flower bed, at the beds her mother-in-law hadn’t managed to arrange. There was a lot of work ahead to restore the dacha to its original state.
“Not mad at me?” Sergey asked quietly, approaching his wife.
“At you?” Marina shook her head. “No. You did the right thing.”
“At Mom?”
Marina was silent, looking at the sunset over the trees.
“You know,” she finally said, “I understand she meant well. But everyone needs their own place. Our dacha is our dream, our work. We don’t have to sacrifice it for other people’s plans, even if they are well-intentioned.”
Sergey hugged his wife by the shoulders.
“We’ll restore your roses,” he promised.
“Definitely,” Marina smiled. “And plant new ones. Just for you and me.”
They stood in silence, enjoying the peace. Somewhere in the bushes a nightingale sang, and the smell of dinner came from the house. This was their dacha, their dream, their happiness. And no one had the right to take it away.
The next weekend, Anton and Lena came. They helped restore the flower bed and planted new flowers to replace the destroyed ones. Lena turned out to be a wonderful helper—she wasn’t afraid to get dirty and worked alongside everyone.
“You know,” she said while they were drinking tea on the veranda, “you did the right thing. Everyone needs their own space. Especially at this age.”
Anton nodded in agreement with his fiancée.
“Mom, I know it wasn’t easy. But you’re great for standing up for your dream.”
Marina looked gratefully at her son. It was good he understood and accepted their decision. It meant their effort to raise him to respect others’ boundaries was not in vain.
In the evening, when the young couple left, Marina and Sergey sat on the porch, admiring the stars. The dacha had finally become the place they dreamed of—a cozy corner for rest and reflection.
“You know,” Marina said, “maybe we should help your mother find her own dacha? If she really wants to garden.”
Sergey looked surprised at his wife.
“Seriously?”
“Why not?” Marina shrugged. “She has a pension, some savings. Maybe she’ll find a smaller plot and arrange it for her needs. But let it be her project, not ours.”
“You’re kind,” Sergey said, kissing her on the cheek.
“I just understand that everyone needs their own place in the sun,” Marina replied. “Both us and her.”
That’s what they did. A month later, they helped Valentina Mikhailovna find a small plot with a house in a nearby summer cooperative. The mother-in-law was happy to have the opportunity to manage her own household, and Marina and Sergey regained their peace.
Now they visited each other occasionally, but everyone had their own space, their own rules, their own dreams. And that was right.
The dacha became the place they dreamed of—a quiet corner to escape the city bustle, enjoy nature, and each other’s company. Marina restored her flower bed, planted new rose varieties. Sergey set up a workshop in the shed where he could pursue his favorite hobby—wood carving.
In the evenings, they sat on the veranda, drank tea, and planned the future. Their own future, in their own home, among their own flowers. And that was happiness—simple, quiet, but real.